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Mt. Vernon Republican (Mount Vernon, Ohio : 1854), 1855-07-24

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, h - w r: . ' -, v.- r m..W'f -y:-i,.,K (. . - , ,., w'::i ' if ll ' ill fV jfaA CV T. . JK .A Mil - ' ' r.. . : . , . xSMiiSli -: ' ' " V "IF A FREE THOUGHT SEEK EXPRESSION, SPEAK IT BOLDLY SPEAK IT ALL." ' JS VOL.1. MOUNT VERNON, OHIO, TUESDAY MORNING, JULY 24, 1855. : NO.lc. TUB MOUNT VERSTOX BEPlMCAill II PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY MOI11UNG, "Republican Printing Company," Incorporated under the General Lain. TERMS. In Advance $3,00; within six mouths, 3,25; after the expiration of six months, 3,50; after the end of the year, $3 00. Subscriber! in town, receiving? their papera ly earner, will be charged nyfr cent audi tional. Clubs often, $1,75 to be paid invariably in advance. All communication for the pnper and buel Hess letters should be addressed to THO. F- WITHROW, Secretary of the Republican Printing Co; " " SclctUft poetry. A Ptean for Independence. . , , t rxai binjamik, From West to East, a sudden splendor breaking, proclaims we auvoni oi anotuer any Sacred to Freedom ! newer hopes awaking In distant nations, who behold her ray. Lighting onr shores with undiminished glory, Still undiminished in the lapse of years, And making grander yet the oft-told story Of all our fathers won through blood and tears. Our brave forefathera I few of their bright num ber Remain to claim our reverence and our love, la honored graves their war-worn bodies slumber,In blessed mansions rest their souls above. To keep their memories is our holy duty jT , To them we owe this horitaire of peace, Thete fair possessions, these broad realms of beauty, To which Time lends a bounteous increase. I No tyrant's hand can rob us of domioi n , No conqueror desolate our fruitful valo ; High soars our eagle with unritHed pinions ; Bravely our bauuer meets opposing gales. Here are no slaves of old-world, dead convention, Our motto, " Freedom come to all mankind !" No interference, but firm intervention, j ' W hen men their fellows would in fetters bind. ; When kings to Freedom's spirit bid defiance, . And trampled down the people like base weeds, And join their forces in unblessed alliance, i To wa(e a warfare of unrighteous deds,-j Then to the natien's cry we Be strong hearted , Be bold and resolute, and full of trust : 1 The might of Freedom has not yet departed,' Nor her high altars leveled with the dust. ' Her starry flag shall float above your legions Beneath its folds the doves of peace repose ; Her power and glory shall pervade your regions, And make your deserts blossom like the rose. : i What though for long, long yeari of toil and strife, , . Subjects and serfs your generation be, Hope on, and struggle while there yet is life . It not yourselves yeur children shall be tret. Auspicious hour t all nnble thoughts inspiring. Well may we triumph at thy glad return Each mind and heart with loftier impulse firing, Causing each breast with warmer love to burn. The love of country I Time cannot efface, Nor distance dim its Heaven-descended light, Nor adverse Fame, nor Fortune e'er deface it-It dreads no tempest, and it knows no night. Graham' I Magazine. Prayer for the Absent B7 IMS. B. I. ABIT, Father, be with them while the wings of night Brood o'er our human hearts like sorrow' pall j While life speeds on its hushed, mysterious flight, Father, be with them all. 8isters and brothers, that beside the hearth, Or round the cradle of my childhood trod, All gone, all scattered o'er the worn old earth, Ohl shield them well, ray God. Dearer than life thou givest the household blest; Whose cares and joy fill up the thronged today! , Cheating the spirit of its fond unrest 1 O'er dear ones far away ; i Of those whose love my mfant fireside knew, , Not one. ia near my joys and griefs to share, But memory seeketn, like the falling dew, Night's loosening bond of care ; Then for the fond ones that beside me grew, Upsf rings the heart-felt prayer. Young forms are round me as in days gone by, Sweet tones recall the tones I hear no more ; And love looks on me from a laughing eye, Like one I loved of yore. Fainting, lest my frail hand point not to heaven, Hourly for these, to thee, my Qod, 1 pray, While tne loved household to my childhood given O'er earth forgotten stray, But, like tired doves that homeward troop at even, They claim the closing day. Arthur'! Home GtttUi . 1 . ' .ii Sit Sown, Sad SouL BT ALfSID TINXTSOX. Sit down, sad soul, and count The momenta flying ; Come tell the sweet amount That'a lost by sighing. How many smiles 7 a score T Then laugh and count no more. For day i dying. Lie down, sad soul, and sleep, And no more measure The flight of Time, nor weep The loss of leisure J But hers, by this lone stream, Lie do"",. Jith us and dream f ' -arry treasure 1 We dream ; do thou the same, We love forever J We laugh, yet few we shame, . The gentle, never ; Slay then till sorrow dies Then hope and happy skies Are this forever. . ETOne of Lobomllov'S finest picture! ia the following t Slowly, alowly sp the wall Steals the sunshine, steals the shade. Evening damps beaiit to fall. Evening shadows am displayed ' ' Round me, e'er me, everywhere; All the sky is grand with clouds, And athwart the evening air Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Shafts of sunshine from the west Paint the dusky windows red f Darker shadows, deeper rest, . ' Underneath and overhead. ', Parker, darker and more wan In my breast the shadow all ; - V Upward steals the life of man. ', A the sunshine from the wall,, From the wall into the sky, From the roof along the spire t Ah, the soels of those that die . .. . Are but sunbeams liAed higher. 21 Beautiful Skctcl). The Old-Fashioned Grandmother. "I find the marks of my shortest steps beside those of my beloved mother, which were measured by mr own," says Alex ander Duma, and so conjures up one of tne sweetest images in the world, lie was revisiting the home of his infancy ; he was retracing the little paths around it, he had once gone in and strange flowers could not efface, and rank grass could not conceal, and cruel plows oould not obliterate, his '.' shortest footsteps," and his mother's beside them, " measured by his own." And who needs to be told whose footprints they were, that thus kept time with the feeble pattering of childhood's little feet ? It was no mother beside whom As-canius walked " unequal steps" in Virgil's life, but a stern, strortg' mtfri, who could have borne him and not been burdened, folded him in his arms from all danger, and not been wearied ; every thing indeed he could have done for him, but just what he needed most ; he could not sympathize with him ; he could not be a child again. Ah, a rare art is that, for indeed it it an art, to set back the great old clock of time, and be a boy once more. Man's imagination can easily see the child a man, but how hard it is for it to see the man a child ; and he who had learned to glide back into that rosy time, when he did not know that thorns were under the roses, or that clouds would never return after the rain ; when he thought that a tear could stain a cheek no more than a drop of rain a flower ; when he fancied life bad no disguises and hope no blight at all, has come as near as anybody in the world, to discovering the North-West Passage to Paradise. And it is perhaps for this reason, that it is so much easier for a mother to enter the kingdom of heaven, than it is for the rest of the world. She fancies she is lead ing the children, when, after all, the child ren are leading her : and they keep her in deed where the river is the narrowest, and the air is the clearest; and the beck oning of a radiant hand is so plainly seen from the other side, that it is no wonder she so often lets go her clasp upon the lit tle fingers she is holding, and goes over to the neighbors, and the children follow, like lambs to the fold, for we think it ought somewhere to be written, "where the Mother is, there will be the Children also." But it was not of the Mother we began to think, but of the dear old-fashioned Grandmother, whose thread of love, spun " by hand" on life's little wheel, was long er and stronger than they make it now, and was wound around and about the children she saw playing in the children's arms, in a true love-knot, that nothing but the shears of Atropos could sever, and perhaps not even they ; for do we not recognize the lamos sometimes, wncn, summer unys nre over and autumn wind's are blowing, and they come bleating from the yellow fields, by the crimson thread we wound around their necks in April or May, and so undo the gate, and let the wanderers in T : Blessed are the children who have an old-fashioned Grandmother. As they hope for length of days, let them love her and honor "her, for we can tell them, they will never find another, and the Grandmothers, alas for it, are becoming very few indeed. Like the old-fashioned Bible, that lay on the stand, there used to be one in almost every house, and the words of the one were no more honest and loving than those of the other. But the stand is filled with em broidery and worsted work, and the old Bible has given place to a clasped, Tur key-bound, gilt-edgod successor; from " vanity fair ; and the old urandmotber went away with the old Bible. Men have translated the one ; God has translated the other. There is a large old kitchen somewhere in the past, and an old-fashioned fire place therein, with its smooth old jambs of stone ; smooth with many knives that have been sharpened there ; smooth with many little fingers that have clung there. There are andirons too : the old andirons with rings in the top, whereon many temples of flame hare been builded with spires and turrets of crimson. Thei e is a broad, worn hearth ; broad enough for three generations to cluster on ; worn by feet that have been torn and bleeding by the way, or been made " beautiful," and walked upon floors of tes-selated gold. There are tongs in the corner, wherewith we grasped a coal, and " blowing for a little life," lighted our first candle there is a shovel, wherewith were drawn forth the glowing embers in which we saw our first fancies and dreamed our firstdreams;the shove wherewith we stirred the sleepy logs, till the sparks rushed up the chimney as if a forge were in blast, and wished we had so many lamb or so manv somethings that we coveted I and J lags u WHS nisi wo wisneu uur urst nwuti. I . t. . l . !.L.J .... e There is a cupboard over the fire-place, that contains our first picture-books: the biography of Robin Hood, or the Babes in the Woods, or the melancholy fate of Cock-Robin, or Richard Whittington and his precious cat The old Almanacs are there upon the top shelf from away back in the seventeen hundreds, where the s's were all f's, and there were little words at the bottom of the pages to bold on by, while we wet our thumbs and turned over. There is an old musket, dumb upon It wooden hooks over the cupboard ) a " Queen Anne's piece," or something older, that has spoken very eloquently somewhere, dumb as it is bow perhaps in the Revolution, perhaps in the old French War j in some old Grandfather's hands, who is waiting the great reveille of the just. There is an old, narrow-waisted, moonfaced clock in the corner, whose shrill bell rings off the hours,' and the years and children together. There is an old stand by the window, and a Bible upon it, with the family record between the old world and the new. There is a door ajar, and within is the pantry, and the old pewter platters the plait of those simple times- glitter upon its shelves. There is a mirror with a frame of quaint device, and a blue ship sailing in a pink sea, beneath a yellow nil V. Thr ia a hrnarl ntrl fnmilv IaM Preside the wall, large as the haarts of its owners, where there was room for all the three generations, and " the stranger with- in the gates." There is a chest of drawers with a till in one corner, and treasures a-many within it ; locks from every bead of us all, fliizen and silvered, and golden and brown ; fragments of ribbon, and samples of dresses, for the babe and the bride ; an old letter or two with a death or a birth, or a blessing in it. There is a cbair, a low, rush-bottomed cbair, there is a little wheel in the corner, a big wheel in the garret, a loom in the chamber. There are chests full of treasures of linen and yarn, and quilts of rare pattern, and " samples" in frames. And everywhere and always, the dear old wrinkled face of her whose firm elastio step mocks the feeble saunter of her children's children the old fashioned Grandmother of twenty'ycars ago. She, the rery Providance of the old homestead ; she, who loved us all, and said she' wished there were more of us to love,- and took all the school in the Hollow for grandchildren beside. A great, expansive heart was hers, beneath that woolen gown, or that more stately bombazine, or that sole heirloom of silken texture. We can see her to-day, those mild, blue eyes, with more of beauty in them than time could touch, or death do more than hide ; those eyes that held both smiles and tears within the faintest call of every one of us ; and soft reproof that seemed not passion but regret. A white tress had escaped from beneath her snowy cap, she has just restored a wandering lamb to its mother again ; she lengthened the tether of a vine that was straying over a window, as she came in, and plucks a four-leaved clover for Ellen. She sits down by the little wheel ; a tress is running through her fingers from the distaff's dishevelled head, when a small voice cries " Grandma," from the old red cradle, and " Grandma," Tommy shouts from the top of the stairs. Gently she lets go the thread, for her patience is as beautiful almost as charity, and she touches the little red bark a moment, till the young royager is in a dream again, and then directs Tommy's unavailing attempts to harness the cat. The tick of the clock runs faint and low, and she opens the mysterious door, and proceeds to wind it wlih a ttring. We are all on tiptoe, and we all beg in breath, to be lifted up one by one, and look in upon the tin cases of the weights, and the poor lonely pendulum that goes too and fro by its little dim window, and never comes out in the world, and our petitions are all granted, and we are all lifted up, and we all touch with a finger the wonderful weights, and the music of tne little wheel is resumed. Was Mary to be married, or Jane to be wrapped in a shroud ? So meekly did she fold the white hands of the one upon her still bosom, that there seemed to be a prayer in them there ; and so sweetly did she wreathe the white rose in the hair of the other, that one would not hare wonder' ed had more roses budded for company. How she stood between us and appre' bended harm ; how the rudest of us soft ened beneath the gentle pressure of her fa ded and tremulous hand ; from her capa' cious pocket, that hand was ever withdrawn closed, only to be opened in our own, witn the nuts she had gathered, the cherries she had plucked : the little egg's she bad found ; the " turn-over" she had baked ; the trinket she had purchased for us, the product of her spinning; the blessing she had stored for us, the offspring of her heart. What treasures of story fell from those old lips ; of good fairies and evil ; of the old times when sit vat a gxrl, and we wondered if ever. But then she couldn't be handsomer, nor dearer, but that she ever was " little." And then, when we begged her to sing. " Sing us one of the old songs you used to sing to mother. Grandma." Children, I can't sing," she always re plied, but then she did, and mother used to lay her knitting softly down, and the kitten would stop playing with the yarn upon the floor, and the clock would seem to tick lower in the corner, and the fire would die down to a glow, like an old heart that is neither chilled nor dead, and Grandmother would sing. To be sure it wouldn't do for the parlor and the concert room now-a-days, but then it was the old kitchen and the old-fashioned Grandmother, and the old ballad, in the dear bid times, and we can hardly see to write for the memory of them, though it is a hand's breadth to the sunset. . Well, she sang; ber voice was feeble and warering, like a fountain just ready to fail, but then, how sweet toned it was ; and it grew deeper and stronger, but it couldn't grow sweeter. What "joy of grief" it was to sit there around the fire- all or us, except Jane, that clasped a prayer to her boson, and her we thought we saw, when the hall door was opened a moment by the wind, but then we were not afraid, for wasn't it her old smile she wore ? to sit there around the fire, and weep orer the woes of the " oabes in the woods, who laid down side by side in the great solemn shadows ; and how strangely glad we felt when robin redbreast " did cover them with leaves," and last of all, when the angels took them out of the night into day everlasting. We may think what we will of it now, bat the song and story heard around the kitchen fire, have colored the thoughts and lives of the most of us ; have given us the germs of whatever poetry blesses our hearts ; whatever of memory blooms in our yesterdays. -Attribute whatever we may to the school and the school-master, the rays that make that little winter's day we eall life radiate from the God-swept circle of the hearth-stone. Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to mother her mother sang to her ; but she does not sing it through, and falters ere 'tis done. She rests her head upon hei hands, and it is silent in the old kitchen. Something glitlers down between her fingers in the firelight, and it looks like raia in the soft sunshine. The old Grandmother is thinking, thinking when she first heard the song, and of the voice 'hat sang it; when a light-haired and hearted girl, she hung around that mother's ehair, nor saw the shadows of the years to come. Oh, the days that are no more I What spell can we weave to bring them back again? What words unsay, what deeds undo, to sot back just this once, the ancient clock of time T So all our little hands were forerer clinging to her garments, and staring her, as from dying, for long ago she had done living for herself, and lived alone in us. But the old kitchen wants a presenoe today, and the rush-bottomed chair is tenant-less.How she used to welcome ns when we were grown, and came back once more to the homestead. We thought-we were men and women, but we w;re children tliere.l TL. -U I..L! n... t .1 II' 1 iuu uiu-msuiuueu urranumutper was onnu in ner eyes, dui sne sawwitii her heart m she always did. We threw our long shadows through the open door, and she-. felt them, as they fell over her form ; and she looked dimly up, and saw tall shapes in the doorway, and she said, " Edward 1 know, and Lucy's voice I also hear, but whose is that other ? , It must be Jane's," for she had almost forgotten the folded hands. " Ob, no, not Jane, for she let me see why, she is waiting for me, isn't she," and the old Grandmother wandered, and wept. " It is another daughter, Grandmother, that Edward has brought," says some one ; " brought for your blessing." " Has she blue eyes, my soul? Put her hand in mine, for she is my latest born, the child of my old ag. Shall I sing you a song, children ?" Her hand is in her pocket as of old ; she is idly fumbling for a toy, a welcome-gift for the children that have came again. One of us, men as we thought we were, was weeping; she hears the half suppressed sob she says as she extends her feeble hands, " here, my poor child, here upon your old Grandmother's shoulder; she will protect you from all barm. " Come, children, sit around the fire again. Shall I sjng you a song, or tell you a story? Stir the fire, for it is cold : the nights are growing colder." The clock in the corner struck nine ; the bedtime of those old days. The song of life was indeed sung, the story told ; it was bedtime at last. Good night to thee, Grandmother ! The old-fashioned Grandmother was no more, and we miss her forever.But we will set up a tablet in the midst of the memory, in the midst of the heart, and we will write on it only this : SACRED TO TBI UBMORT of the OLD-FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER. God BLISS HER rORIVCR ! Gone Home. Gone to the grave I Gone home, The mother in the bloom of youth, has gazed upon the tiny face of her first born has witnessed the feeble struggle for life and seen its little hands folded in death ; sweet blossom, thus early called borne before the frosts of time hare settled on that sinless heart. The mother's eyes are filled with tears, and the father gazes with saddened brow upon the wreck of his fondest hopes. Weep not, lond mother I uod has called the infant home in mercy yes, in the abundance of his loving kindness has he taken its pure and unsullied spirit to himself. The babe is thine own in heaven, and soon shalt thou join him in the Para dise of God. Death has already marked thee for his own, and the hours of thy pil grimage on earth are numbered. JNerve tby spirit, stern, proud man, for a trial deeper than the loss of thy first-born awaits thee. Aye, smile on as thine eye rests upon her the pride of thy manly heart. Whisper to her hopeful words of the fu ture ; brush away those pearly drops from her eyes, and school your own lip to smile, that she may smile also ; treasure up each fond endearing word from those smiling lips, and respond, with a full soul, to her whispered accents of lore. Slumber is stealing on those eye-lids, and from that slumber she will awake to smile no more on earth. 8he sleeps, but thou, fond, foolish man, canst not believe this placid slumber the unerring sign of dissolution. Kit by her side, watch every breath through the long night, and whisper to your deluded heart that she will be well on the morrow. And when morning comes, she awakens not and when friends tell thee that she must die, believe them not ; frown back that tear drop in the presence of men ; it is not manly to weep. Speak roughly to the physician, and assure him that she will soon be well, and when they hare left thee alone, bow thy head, for in the presence of God even proud men may weep and not be ashamed. . She awakens, and intelligence beams from those eyes the light of lore is there ; ask if she knows you; she cannot speak, but her eyes say " yes" her arms are raised to clasp your neck ; treasure up that look, for it is the last She has gone, but so gently that though you watched her erery breath, you knew not when the spirit departed. Now you may weep, for men will not smile in scorn and eall it weakness to weep over the body of a departed wife. She has gone, and you have seen her poor lifeless body laid in the grave ; you have knelt by the mound above her head, and breathed a prayer full of anguish to the Father for strength to bear this your deepest trial. You are alone in yonr room, the room from which she was, carried to the grave ; paper, pens and ink are before you, and you must not shrink from communicating the sad intelligence of your loss to the dear ones thousands of miles away from you. Your aged father and mother have the first claim. , Yon fancy you see them seated by the fireside in the far distant home, and the tears gush forth afresh. They loved her the angel of your choice. They made room in their hearts for another one, area for your bride, the daughter you brought them. You write to them first for you want their sympathy, and how eaa you write to her parents bow inflict that wound upon their loving hearts I x ou begin, but hot tears blot the page, and it must be with a manly hand that you write, for they know you not, save by the partial representations of your loved, your lost one. Again and again, you essay to write, and at last throw down the paper and walk the room with rapid stridei, The sister, too, must know the loss, and while you hesitate, letters are brought in, letters from that mother and sister not to you, but to .i . i .... . - . nisi angei wue. un, Diuerest of agony I can you read them 1 No I yet how gladly would she have read them to you, if she had been spared, and how doubly bitter I , l i, ' . oe lasit 01 writing now I tou cannot write w tue motuer, out the i ster VOU know, film lnirna vnu with a . ?T .. . .. 4 iter's fond affection, and to her you pour I i, with a bursting heart, the sum of your s rows'; tears blot the page, but you care not. one would weep with you, and you urge her to write at once to comfort you. It is well to weep, but God has sent the trial in mercy to call your heart from earth to heaven. Soon, aye, very soon, your spirit will be called to join the loved one in heaven. Your days are numbered, and your spirit, purified by suffering, will soon be released from earth. You are alone in a land of strangers, and you pray that the Father may take you home to himself, but you know not how soon that prayer will be answered. 'Tis evening, and a glorious autumn sunset. All nature smiles, but saddened faces are seen surrounding an opeu grave. The sorowing one has gone home. With a spirit saddened he learned to love the Father in Heaven, and death eame to him, not with stern and ruthless hand, but gently as a messenger of love ; he bowed his head and died, and strangers, with tearful eyes, performed to him the last sad rites; but they saw not, heard not (for mortal eyes may not behold the bliss of the spirit land) the glad re-union in the home of the blest. They saw not the radiant form bovering near; heard not the strains of rapture, which welcomed the released spirit to the home of love ; but we know that the spirit dieth not, and that the lore of earth is but the foretaste of bliss to those ransomed souls who surround the throne of God on high. Waverly Magazint. Courting in the Square Is a great thing figuratirely or literally -literally in the particular. Last Sunday night we had occasion to cross Square, between nine and ten o'clock. We felt like sitting down and resting awhile, but to our surprise, were unable to find a seat every bench in the whole square baring on it a gentlemen and lady engaged in earnest and engrossing Ute-a-tett each couple being crowded up at one end of the seat as if intending to leare room for others, but really because the gentleman, in bis magnetic ardor, had kept squeezing np to his duloinea until the arm of the seat was imperceptibly reached. Although we had a perfect right to take the vacant end of any seat, there was a moral atmosphere about each pair of occupants something in the affectionate collision of tulle and duck and in the warm proximity of lip and ear, that kept us at bay as effectually as a brace of j unmuzzled bull-dogs would bare done. Our politeness in passing on without stopping was rather shabbily repaid with intense staring and a cessation of speech by each couple we passed, except one. We soon got out of that, and though we had only been exercising our right, felt, to a certain extent, thankful that no watchman's rattle or a cry of stop-thief had prclaimed our base intrusion. The couple who did not stare at us, caused us to stare at them as long as we were able ; it was impolite we know, but we couldn't help it The gentleman reclined on the seat with his head resting on the back. Whether his head rested on the sharp iron back or was pillowed by muslin with an arm in it, we could not make out, but should suspect the latter, for the lady leaned to the gentleman " like a kitten to a warm jamb," and, with her white neck gleaming in the gas-light, bent her face orer his, which wooed ft as the pool might woo the orer-hanging beech. As we passed we noticed the beech descending slowly and a most distractincr sound announced its junction with the pool. it was no upstart boiden, but a full, genu-uine "buss," compared with which we should judge strawberries and cream to be entirely nauseous. " It had a dying fall" and might hare caused a weaker nerred individual than ourself to "fall dying" on the spot Our predominant sensation was that the Sabbath had been shockingly profaned, as we hurried on we beard the profanity repeated more shockingly than before. The lovers, it was plain, had for gotten they were on a seat in a publio square, being high in that rose-colored hea-ren concerning which the "poicks" scribble so much. Ovirdoiiio tbr Thino. There was once a Methodist preacher traveling in the summer. There had been a protracted drought, the earth was parched and dry, and vegetation wilted. At night our Methodist friend stopped in front of a house which belonged to a widow lady, and asked permission to stay all night. The old may toiu mm inai oreaa was scarce, and that corn was still more scarce, and that she did not know whether she could spare enough to feed him and his horse. The traveler answered her that he was a min ister, and that if she would allow him to stay all night he would pray for rain. Upon this she oonsented, so that night and next morning the preacher put np long and fervent prayers for rain, and again went on his way rejoicing. I be night, alter he left there came a tremendous storm. The old lady, on getting up in the morning, found her garden flooded, her fences swept away, her plantation washed in gullies, while ruin and devastation stared her in the face. Turning to one who was standing by, she said : " riague lane these Jdetbedist preaehen, they alvayt overdo the thing. I was afraid of this night before last, when that fellow kept praying so loud I" .... A young lady was discharged from one of the largest rinegar bouses in Cin cinnati last week. She was so sweet that the vinegar was kept from fermenting. ' itttMcal. Modern Frogren in the Medical Profession.The public hare latterly had presented to them rather a novel feature in the journalism of the day,, in the shape of elaborate scientific treatises on medical subjects appearing in eonsecutive chapters in the advertising and news columns of the daily and weekly newspapers of this city. These articles are from the pen of Dr. Hunter, No. 028 Broadway, the well known practitioner in pulmonary and bronchial diseases, and are distinguished from the em-pyrical programmes usually put forth through tne same medium, by their thorough acquaintance with the subjects treated of, the simplicity and clearness of their language, and the demonstrative force of the arguments employed. ' With these qualities to recommend them to our attention, we cannot but welcome the appearance of these articles as heralding an important and beneficial revolution in the traditions and practice of the medical profession. There is no pursuit in which the spirit of old fogyism has, in spite of the enlightenment of the age, managed more completely to trammel and subdue the human intellect With a riew to unity, like the Roman Catholio Church, it maintains its hold upon the almost superstitious awe and rererence of ignorant and unreasoning minds by inrolriog the little of truth that it possesses in technical phra seology, denred from classical sources, and consequently incomprehensible to the multitude. But few men belonging to the craft for such more correctly may be designated the medical profession have bad courage to emancipate themselves from the code of conventional as well as collegiate regulations which has been built up for its pro tection. Like the novitiate of the Egyptian priesthood, its mysteries and its privileges could only become accessible by a prescribed track, and after a long, and oft en painiul probation. There has been hitherto no short cut to professional success and fame recognized within its canons. Any man departing from the beaten road laid down for bis guidance has been invariably treated as an outcast, and stigmatised as a quack. The result has been, that whilst the medical profession has been reduced to a close monopoly, it has extended but little its sphere of knowledge, and hag consequently conferred less benefits upon the human race than it might otherwise hare done. One of the barriers by which the profession has endearored to fence itself around, has been the: prohibition or discouragement held out to all attempts on the part of its members to enter into direct communication with the public. A medical man may address himself through the medium of a book, and under the cover of technicalities to his own profession, but be roust not appeal to the common sense and natural in telligence of the uninitiated members of the community, lest the arcana of the healing art should cease to be, like the El eusynian mysteries, an exclusive and profitable possession. The effect of this jealous and narrow-minded system of phi lanthropic and bigh-spirited men may readily be conceived. They hare hsd to chafe in silent indignation under restraints, the direct bearing of which has been to protect the privileges of the senior members of the profession, and keep down and discourage as much as possible all evidences of rising talent We are rejoiced to find that one man, and that a .practitioner, whose professional merits and skill cannot for a moment be questioned, has had the moral courage to break through the trammels imposed upon him by the old routine of his art. Dr. Hunter wisely, and in time, arrived at the conclusion that if such acquirements as he possessed were worth anything, the more extensive the circulation he gave to the results of his researches and experience the greater the benefits he would not only confer upon himself but upon the community Between the limited publicity afforded him by the usual professional reources of book publication and that offered by the newspapers it is not surprising that' he chose the latter. It presented the advantages of rapidity, comprehensiveness and popularity, objects whioh, to a man ambitious of fame in his profession, were the readiest and surest elements of success. We hare had personal experienee of the happy results of the Doctor's mode of treatment, and can vogoh for its success. Owing to the serere drudgery incident to our pursuits, and that tendency to bronchial diseases with which the peculiarity of our climate afflicts such a large proportion of our population, we nave been suffering tor several years past from a throat affection, which all the medical remedies that we had formerly applied failed to eure. We can truly say that we have found more relief and greater hope of ultimately trettinir rid of the malady from Dr. Hunter's mode of treatment than from that of anv other med ical man to whom we had previously submitted our case. The lesson afforded by this brief sketch of Dr. Hunter's career is calculated to be useful to the medical profession. Here is a man who, chained down by 'the conventional piejudices and usages of his medical brethren, might have toiled on for half his life without arriving at the results to which his acquirement! entitled him to aspire. It cost him an effort of moral courage, and no doubt a sacrifice of some professional pride, to emancipate himself from the thraldom of associations in which they bound him. By having sufficient independence of character to shake loose these ties, and devote bis talents to the general good of the community, he has, within an unprecedented short space of lime, won the highest prizes withm the reach of medical practitioner. tV It Is better to tread the path of life cheerfully ; skipping over the thorns and briers that obstruct your Way, thsn to sit down under every hedge lamenting your hard condition. Prudent conduct in the concerns of life is highly necessary, but if aieiren succeed, despair will not auord re lief. . Lung Diseases Dr. Hunter. Our readers have, doubtless, all real the series of interesting letters contributed to the Mirror lot sometime past, by Dr. Robert Hunter, whose system of " inhalation in the treatment of Diseases of the Chest" though but for a short lime intro-' duced to the American public has by it uniform success, even in cases pronounced incurable by other modes of treatment, secured a favor with the publio, and the medical fraternity even, seldom vouchsafed to an innoration on " medicalusages."--Indeed, we doubt if any greater revolution in the treatment of a class of diseases, has erer occurred in this country. To diseases of the lungs and ebest- consumption, bronchitis, dec, the American people hare a general and, it would seem, chronic inclination, 1 Whether it results most from carelessness in dress, or in diet, or mainly from a want of care in both, as well as in habits of exercise we cannot say but we know, from keeping an eye to the mortality bills, that lung and chest diseases nre the ruling diseases of this country. And what is more, they hare, heretofore, mainly baffled the skill of our medical faculty, laughing tar-water, cod-lirer oil, and all that sort of thing to scorn. The accession of Dr. Hunter, therefore, to our medical ranks, with a system of practice that promises to reduce if not obliterate the triumphant power of consumption and its cognates, is hailed with more than satisfaction. Dr. Hunter is a physician who has ventured into the field with no less modesty than ability, making no pretensions that he has not justified by sound argument and successful practice. Right here, in our midst, he has met the " incurables," and restored them to pristine health. He has so multiplied witnesses in his behalf that he might hare rested on " testimonials," and been sure of practice to his heart's oontent. But he has taken a broader and nobler riew in relation to his duty, as the institutor of a ral-uable new system in connection with the healing art. He has desired not only to practice it himself, but to commend it to the medical fraternity, certain that, when their prejudices should be overcome, they, too, would join with him in its practice. He wished to serve the public in the largest way possible. Of course we know nothing of the medicaments used by Dr. Hunter, nor can we discourse technically upon his mode of treatment ; we only know that by inhalation he reaches disease as it has never before been reached, and that, to the patient, it is not only curative but at the same time the most agreeable mode of treatment. Our readers have, however, been enlightened by Dr. H.'s letters more than they would be by anything we could say. A rery able article or summary of his system appears in the March numbtr of the American Medical Gazette, edited by Dr. Meredith Reese. We hive not space here to copy this article, as we would like to do, but it is worthy of the attention of every one. In introducing the letter to his read-era, Dr. Reese says : " We insert bis (Dr. Hunter's) letter with pleasure, addressed as it is to the profession, who will know how to appreciate it. It will serve us, moreorer, as an answer to many of our distant subscribers who have written to us for information on the subject They cannot fail to discriminate between Dr. Hunter's scientific views in regard to diseases and remedies, and the paltry charlatanism of certain quacks, whose grandiloquent advertisements of 1 lung vapor in packages,' Ac, merit only contempt, and whose employment of Inhalation is calculated to bring the practice into disrepute." , The Herald says, in copying the above mentioned letter : ' " The artiole is clear, well written and sensible, and is addressed by Dr. Hunter to his brethren of the profession at large, as an explicit declaration of the principles on which he practices in a speciality, with acknowledged benefit to a large and widely extending circle of patients, both from this city find the surrounding districts. His avoidance of erery indication of empiricism, and his rational diagnosis of all affections of the throat and lungs, with his very successful application of remedial agents in the shape of medicated rapor, have caused Dr. Hunter to be already patronized br some of our leading physicians, and his house is daily crowded with patients." . But our purpose, in this article, was not to introduce special testimony, or to argue Dr. Hunter's claims in any speoial way. With thousands of others, we hare been interested in his system, more by the universality of its success and the blessing it promised, than on any and all other accounts. To the real servitor oJ the publio the friend of humanity we n are nerer been wanting in eulogy. We regarl Dr. Hunter as a distinguished member of this class. JV. T. Mirror. Hurrah 1 This word is pure Sclaronian, and is commonly heard from the coasts of Dalmatia to Behring's Straits, when any of the population living within these limit are called on to give proof of courage) and valor. The origin of the word belongs to the primitive idea that every man that dies heroioally for his country goes straight to Heaven (ffu-raj to Paradise), and it ia so that in a shock and ardor of battle, the combatant otter that cry, as the Tnrka do that of Allah I each animating himself by the certitude of immediate recompense, to forget earth and contemn death. Optwittiko tbi . SHRirr. A New-Hampshire sheriff was taking a rogna to-prison, a few days since, in a wagon. To make sure of him, the sheriff sat ia the prisoner' lap ; and when the horses eame to a hill, where his attention was neeesry to his vehicle, the rogue threw him out of bis lap, jnrapsd from the wagon and escaped to tha wood. ' ,: 6rAn!ie TP oa ma Rronts." Haa a man," asked a prisoner of a mt,'itrte, " any right to commit a nuisance ?" " No. sir; not even the Msyor." " Then, sir, I claim my liberty. I was arrested as , nuisance, and no oneb a rifht t't C5'-mil b. I m.its I t a e'1"U !" ' rX y -s -

, h - w r: . ' -, v.- r m..W'f -y:-i,.,K (. . - , ,., w'::i ' if ll ' ill fV jfaA CV T. . JK .A Mil - ' ' r.. . : . , . xSMiiSli -: ' ' " V "IF A FREE THOUGHT SEEK EXPRESSION, SPEAK IT BOLDLY SPEAK IT ALL." ' JS VOL.1. MOUNT VERNON, OHIO, TUESDAY MORNING, JULY 24, 1855. : NO.lc. TUB MOUNT VERSTOX BEPlMCAill II PUBLISHED EVERY TUESDAY MOI11UNG, "Republican Printing Company," Incorporated under the General Lain. TERMS. In Advance $3,00; within six mouths, 3,25; after the expiration of six months, 3,50; after the end of the year, $3 00. Subscriber! in town, receiving? their papera ly earner, will be charged nyfr cent audi tional. Clubs often, $1,75 to be paid invariably in advance. All communication for the pnper and buel Hess letters should be addressed to THO. F- WITHROW, Secretary of the Republican Printing Co; " " SclctUft poetry. A Ptean for Independence. . , , t rxai binjamik, From West to East, a sudden splendor breaking, proclaims we auvoni oi anotuer any Sacred to Freedom ! newer hopes awaking In distant nations, who behold her ray. Lighting onr shores with undiminished glory, Still undiminished in the lapse of years, And making grander yet the oft-told story Of all our fathers won through blood and tears. Our brave forefathera I few of their bright num ber Remain to claim our reverence and our love, la honored graves their war-worn bodies slumber,In blessed mansions rest their souls above. To keep their memories is our holy duty jT , To them we owe this horitaire of peace, Thete fair possessions, these broad realms of beauty, To which Time lends a bounteous increase. I No tyrant's hand can rob us of domioi n , No conqueror desolate our fruitful valo ; High soars our eagle with unritHed pinions ; Bravely our bauuer meets opposing gales. Here are no slaves of old-world, dead convention, Our motto, " Freedom come to all mankind !" No interference, but firm intervention, j ' W hen men their fellows would in fetters bind. ; When kings to Freedom's spirit bid defiance, . And trampled down the people like base weeds, And join their forces in unblessed alliance, i To wa(e a warfare of unrighteous deds,-j Then to the natien's cry we Be strong hearted , Be bold and resolute, and full of trust : 1 The might of Freedom has not yet departed,' Nor her high altars leveled with the dust. ' Her starry flag shall float above your legions Beneath its folds the doves of peace repose ; Her power and glory shall pervade your regions, And make your deserts blossom like the rose. : i What though for long, long yeari of toil and strife, , . Subjects and serfs your generation be, Hope on, and struggle while there yet is life . It not yourselves yeur children shall be tret. Auspicious hour t all nnble thoughts inspiring. Well may we triumph at thy glad return Each mind and heart with loftier impulse firing, Causing each breast with warmer love to burn. The love of country I Time cannot efface, Nor distance dim its Heaven-descended light, Nor adverse Fame, nor Fortune e'er deface it-It dreads no tempest, and it knows no night. Graham' I Magazine. Prayer for the Absent B7 IMS. B. I. ABIT, Father, be with them while the wings of night Brood o'er our human hearts like sorrow' pall j While life speeds on its hushed, mysterious flight, Father, be with them all. 8isters and brothers, that beside the hearth, Or round the cradle of my childhood trod, All gone, all scattered o'er the worn old earth, Ohl shield them well, ray God. Dearer than life thou givest the household blest; Whose cares and joy fill up the thronged today! , Cheating the spirit of its fond unrest 1 O'er dear ones far away ; i Of those whose love my mfant fireside knew, , Not one. ia near my joys and griefs to share, But memory seeketn, like the falling dew, Night's loosening bond of care ; Then for the fond ones that beside me grew, Upsf rings the heart-felt prayer. Young forms are round me as in days gone by, Sweet tones recall the tones I hear no more ; And love looks on me from a laughing eye, Like one I loved of yore. Fainting, lest my frail hand point not to heaven, Hourly for these, to thee, my Qod, 1 pray, While tne loved household to my childhood given O'er earth forgotten stray, But, like tired doves that homeward troop at even, They claim the closing day. Arthur'! Home GtttUi . 1 . ' .ii Sit Sown, Sad SouL BT ALfSID TINXTSOX. Sit down, sad soul, and count The momenta flying ; Come tell the sweet amount That'a lost by sighing. How many smiles 7 a score T Then laugh and count no more. For day i dying. Lie down, sad soul, and sleep, And no more measure The flight of Time, nor weep The loss of leisure J But hers, by this lone stream, Lie do"",. Jith us and dream f ' -arry treasure 1 We dream ; do thou the same, We love forever J We laugh, yet few we shame, . The gentle, never ; Slay then till sorrow dies Then hope and happy skies Are this forever. . ETOne of Lobomllov'S finest picture! ia the following t Slowly, alowly sp the wall Steals the sunshine, steals the shade. Evening damps beaiit to fall. Evening shadows am displayed ' ' Round me, e'er me, everywhere; All the sky is grand with clouds, And athwart the evening air Wheel the swallows home in crowds. Shafts of sunshine from the west Paint the dusky windows red f Darker shadows, deeper rest, . ' Underneath and overhead. ', Parker, darker and more wan In my breast the shadow all ; - V Upward steals the life of man. ', A the sunshine from the wall,, From the wall into the sky, From the roof along the spire t Ah, the soels of those that die . .. . Are but sunbeams liAed higher. 21 Beautiful Skctcl). The Old-Fashioned Grandmother. "I find the marks of my shortest steps beside those of my beloved mother, which were measured by mr own," says Alex ander Duma, and so conjures up one of tne sweetest images in the world, lie was revisiting the home of his infancy ; he was retracing the little paths around it, he had once gone in and strange flowers could not efface, and rank grass could not conceal, and cruel plows oould not obliterate, his '.' shortest footsteps," and his mother's beside them, " measured by his own." And who needs to be told whose footprints they were, that thus kept time with the feeble pattering of childhood's little feet ? It was no mother beside whom As-canius walked " unequal steps" in Virgil's life, but a stern, strortg' mtfri, who could have borne him and not been burdened, folded him in his arms from all danger, and not been wearied ; every thing indeed he could have done for him, but just what he needed most ; he could not sympathize with him ; he could not be a child again. Ah, a rare art is that, for indeed it it an art, to set back the great old clock of time, and be a boy once more. Man's imagination can easily see the child a man, but how hard it is for it to see the man a child ; and he who had learned to glide back into that rosy time, when he did not know that thorns were under the roses, or that clouds would never return after the rain ; when he thought that a tear could stain a cheek no more than a drop of rain a flower ; when he fancied life bad no disguises and hope no blight at all, has come as near as anybody in the world, to discovering the North-West Passage to Paradise. And it is perhaps for this reason, that it is so much easier for a mother to enter the kingdom of heaven, than it is for the rest of the world. She fancies she is lead ing the children, when, after all, the child ren are leading her : and they keep her in deed where the river is the narrowest, and the air is the clearest; and the beck oning of a radiant hand is so plainly seen from the other side, that it is no wonder she so often lets go her clasp upon the lit tle fingers she is holding, and goes over to the neighbors, and the children follow, like lambs to the fold, for we think it ought somewhere to be written, "where the Mother is, there will be the Children also." But it was not of the Mother we began to think, but of the dear old-fashioned Grandmother, whose thread of love, spun " by hand" on life's little wheel, was long er and stronger than they make it now, and was wound around and about the children she saw playing in the children's arms, in a true love-knot, that nothing but the shears of Atropos could sever, and perhaps not even they ; for do we not recognize the lamos sometimes, wncn, summer unys nre over and autumn wind's are blowing, and they come bleating from the yellow fields, by the crimson thread we wound around their necks in April or May, and so undo the gate, and let the wanderers in T : Blessed are the children who have an old-fashioned Grandmother. As they hope for length of days, let them love her and honor "her, for we can tell them, they will never find another, and the Grandmothers, alas for it, are becoming very few indeed. Like the old-fashioned Bible, that lay on the stand, there used to be one in almost every house, and the words of the one were no more honest and loving than those of the other. But the stand is filled with em broidery and worsted work, and the old Bible has given place to a clasped, Tur key-bound, gilt-edgod successor; from " vanity fair ; and the old urandmotber went away with the old Bible. Men have translated the one ; God has translated the other. There is a large old kitchen somewhere in the past, and an old-fashioned fire place therein, with its smooth old jambs of stone ; smooth with many knives that have been sharpened there ; smooth with many little fingers that have clung there. There are andirons too : the old andirons with rings in the top, whereon many temples of flame hare been builded with spires and turrets of crimson. Thei e is a broad, worn hearth ; broad enough for three generations to cluster on ; worn by feet that have been torn and bleeding by the way, or been made " beautiful," and walked upon floors of tes-selated gold. There are tongs in the corner, wherewith we grasped a coal, and " blowing for a little life," lighted our first candle there is a shovel, wherewith were drawn forth the glowing embers in which we saw our first fancies and dreamed our firstdreams;the shove wherewith we stirred the sleepy logs, till the sparks rushed up the chimney as if a forge were in blast, and wished we had so many lamb or so manv somethings that we coveted I and J lags u WHS nisi wo wisneu uur urst nwuti. I . t. . l . !.L.J .... e There is a cupboard over the fire-place, that contains our first picture-books: the biography of Robin Hood, or the Babes in the Woods, or the melancholy fate of Cock-Robin, or Richard Whittington and his precious cat The old Almanacs are there upon the top shelf from away back in the seventeen hundreds, where the s's were all f's, and there were little words at the bottom of the pages to bold on by, while we wet our thumbs and turned over. There is an old musket, dumb upon It wooden hooks over the cupboard ) a " Queen Anne's piece," or something older, that has spoken very eloquently somewhere, dumb as it is bow perhaps in the Revolution, perhaps in the old French War j in some old Grandfather's hands, who is waiting the great reveille of the just. There is an old, narrow-waisted, moonfaced clock in the corner, whose shrill bell rings off the hours,' and the years and children together. There is an old stand by the window, and a Bible upon it, with the family record between the old world and the new. There is a door ajar, and within is the pantry, and the old pewter platters the plait of those simple times- glitter upon its shelves. There is a mirror with a frame of quaint device, and a blue ship sailing in a pink sea, beneath a yellow nil V. Thr ia a hrnarl ntrl fnmilv IaM Preside the wall, large as the haarts of its owners, where there was room for all the three generations, and " the stranger with- in the gates." There is a chest of drawers with a till in one corner, and treasures a-many within it ; locks from every bead of us all, fliizen and silvered, and golden and brown ; fragments of ribbon, and samples of dresses, for the babe and the bride ; an old letter or two with a death or a birth, or a blessing in it. There is a cbair, a low, rush-bottomed cbair, there is a little wheel in the corner, a big wheel in the garret, a loom in the chamber. There are chests full of treasures of linen and yarn, and quilts of rare pattern, and " samples" in frames. And everywhere and always, the dear old wrinkled face of her whose firm elastio step mocks the feeble saunter of her children's children the old fashioned Grandmother of twenty'ycars ago. She, the rery Providance of the old homestead ; she, who loved us all, and said she' wished there were more of us to love,- and took all the school in the Hollow for grandchildren beside. A great, expansive heart was hers, beneath that woolen gown, or that more stately bombazine, or that sole heirloom of silken texture. We can see her to-day, those mild, blue eyes, with more of beauty in them than time could touch, or death do more than hide ; those eyes that held both smiles and tears within the faintest call of every one of us ; and soft reproof that seemed not passion but regret. A white tress had escaped from beneath her snowy cap, she has just restored a wandering lamb to its mother again ; she lengthened the tether of a vine that was straying over a window, as she came in, and plucks a four-leaved clover for Ellen. She sits down by the little wheel ; a tress is running through her fingers from the distaff's dishevelled head, when a small voice cries " Grandma," from the old red cradle, and " Grandma," Tommy shouts from the top of the stairs. Gently she lets go the thread, for her patience is as beautiful almost as charity, and she touches the little red bark a moment, till the young royager is in a dream again, and then directs Tommy's unavailing attempts to harness the cat. The tick of the clock runs faint and low, and she opens the mysterious door, and proceeds to wind it wlih a ttring. We are all on tiptoe, and we all beg in breath, to be lifted up one by one, and look in upon the tin cases of the weights, and the poor lonely pendulum that goes too and fro by its little dim window, and never comes out in the world, and our petitions are all granted, and we are all lifted up, and we all touch with a finger the wonderful weights, and the music of tne little wheel is resumed. Was Mary to be married, or Jane to be wrapped in a shroud ? So meekly did she fold the white hands of the one upon her still bosom, that there seemed to be a prayer in them there ; and so sweetly did she wreathe the white rose in the hair of the other, that one would not hare wonder' ed had more roses budded for company. How she stood between us and appre' bended harm ; how the rudest of us soft ened beneath the gentle pressure of her fa ded and tremulous hand ; from her capa' cious pocket, that hand was ever withdrawn closed, only to be opened in our own, witn the nuts she had gathered, the cherries she had plucked : the little egg's she bad found ; the " turn-over" she had baked ; the trinket she had purchased for us, the product of her spinning; the blessing she had stored for us, the offspring of her heart. What treasures of story fell from those old lips ; of good fairies and evil ; of the old times when sit vat a gxrl, and we wondered if ever. But then she couldn't be handsomer, nor dearer, but that she ever was " little." And then, when we begged her to sing. " Sing us one of the old songs you used to sing to mother. Grandma." Children, I can't sing," she always re plied, but then she did, and mother used to lay her knitting softly down, and the kitten would stop playing with the yarn upon the floor, and the clock would seem to tick lower in the corner, and the fire would die down to a glow, like an old heart that is neither chilled nor dead, and Grandmother would sing. To be sure it wouldn't do for the parlor and the concert room now-a-days, but then it was the old kitchen and the old-fashioned Grandmother, and the old ballad, in the dear bid times, and we can hardly see to write for the memory of them, though it is a hand's breadth to the sunset. . Well, she sang; ber voice was feeble and warering, like a fountain just ready to fail, but then, how sweet toned it was ; and it grew deeper and stronger, but it couldn't grow sweeter. What "joy of grief" it was to sit there around the fire- all or us, except Jane, that clasped a prayer to her boson, and her we thought we saw, when the hall door was opened a moment by the wind, but then we were not afraid, for wasn't it her old smile she wore ? to sit there around the fire, and weep orer the woes of the " oabes in the woods, who laid down side by side in the great solemn shadows ; and how strangely glad we felt when robin redbreast " did cover them with leaves," and last of all, when the angels took them out of the night into day everlasting. We may think what we will of it now, bat the song and story heard around the kitchen fire, have colored the thoughts and lives of the most of us ; have given us the germs of whatever poetry blesses our hearts ; whatever of memory blooms in our yesterdays. -Attribute whatever we may to the school and the school-master, the rays that make that little winter's day we eall life radiate from the God-swept circle of the hearth-stone. Then she sings an old lullaby she sang to mother her mother sang to her ; but she does not sing it through, and falters ere 'tis done. She rests her head upon hei hands, and it is silent in the old kitchen. Something glitlers down between her fingers in the firelight, and it looks like raia in the soft sunshine. The old Grandmother is thinking, thinking when she first heard the song, and of the voice 'hat sang it; when a light-haired and hearted girl, she hung around that mother's ehair, nor saw the shadows of the years to come. Oh, the days that are no more I What spell can we weave to bring them back again? What words unsay, what deeds undo, to sot back just this once, the ancient clock of time T So all our little hands were forerer clinging to her garments, and staring her, as from dying, for long ago she had done living for herself, and lived alone in us. But the old kitchen wants a presenoe today, and the rush-bottomed chair is tenant-less.How she used to welcome ns when we were grown, and came back once more to the homestead. We thought-we were men and women, but we w;re children tliere.l TL. -U I..L! n... t .1 II' 1 iuu uiu-msuiuueu urranumutper was onnu in ner eyes, dui sne sawwitii her heart m she always did. We threw our long shadows through the open door, and she-. felt them, as they fell over her form ; and she looked dimly up, and saw tall shapes in the doorway, and she said, " Edward 1 know, and Lucy's voice I also hear, but whose is that other ? , It must be Jane's," for she had almost forgotten the folded hands. " Ob, no, not Jane, for she let me see why, she is waiting for me, isn't she," and the old Grandmother wandered, and wept. " It is another daughter, Grandmother, that Edward has brought," says some one ; " brought for your blessing." " Has she blue eyes, my soul? Put her hand in mine, for she is my latest born, the child of my old ag. Shall I sing you a song, children ?" Her hand is in her pocket as of old ; she is idly fumbling for a toy, a welcome-gift for the children that have came again. One of us, men as we thought we were, was weeping; she hears the half suppressed sob she says as she extends her feeble hands, " here, my poor child, here upon your old Grandmother's shoulder; she will protect you from all barm. " Come, children, sit around the fire again. Shall I sjng you a song, or tell you a story? Stir the fire, for it is cold : the nights are growing colder." The clock in the corner struck nine ; the bedtime of those old days. The song of life was indeed sung, the story told ; it was bedtime at last. Good night to thee, Grandmother ! The old-fashioned Grandmother was no more, and we miss her forever.But we will set up a tablet in the midst of the memory, in the midst of the heart, and we will write on it only this : SACRED TO TBI UBMORT of the OLD-FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER. God BLISS HER rORIVCR ! Gone Home. Gone to the grave I Gone home, The mother in the bloom of youth, has gazed upon the tiny face of her first born has witnessed the feeble struggle for life and seen its little hands folded in death ; sweet blossom, thus early called borne before the frosts of time hare settled on that sinless heart. The mother's eyes are filled with tears, and the father gazes with saddened brow upon the wreck of his fondest hopes. Weep not, lond mother I uod has called the infant home in mercy yes, in the abundance of his loving kindness has he taken its pure and unsullied spirit to himself. The babe is thine own in heaven, and soon shalt thou join him in the Para dise of God. Death has already marked thee for his own, and the hours of thy pil grimage on earth are numbered. JNerve tby spirit, stern, proud man, for a trial deeper than the loss of thy first-born awaits thee. Aye, smile on as thine eye rests upon her the pride of thy manly heart. Whisper to her hopeful words of the fu ture ; brush away those pearly drops from her eyes, and school your own lip to smile, that she may smile also ; treasure up each fond endearing word from those smiling lips, and respond, with a full soul, to her whispered accents of lore. Slumber is stealing on those eye-lids, and from that slumber she will awake to smile no more on earth. 8he sleeps, but thou, fond, foolish man, canst not believe this placid slumber the unerring sign of dissolution. Kit by her side, watch every breath through the long night, and whisper to your deluded heart that she will be well on the morrow. And when morning comes, she awakens not and when friends tell thee that she must die, believe them not ; frown back that tear drop in the presence of men ; it is not manly to weep. Speak roughly to the physician, and assure him that she will soon be well, and when they hare left thee alone, bow thy head, for in the presence of God even proud men may weep and not be ashamed. . She awakens, and intelligence beams from those eyes the light of lore is there ; ask if she knows you; she cannot speak, but her eyes say " yes" her arms are raised to clasp your neck ; treasure up that look, for it is the last She has gone, but so gently that though you watched her erery breath, you knew not when the spirit departed. Now you may weep, for men will not smile in scorn and eall it weakness to weep over the body of a departed wife. She has gone, and you have seen her poor lifeless body laid in the grave ; you have knelt by the mound above her head, and breathed a prayer full of anguish to the Father for strength to bear this your deepest trial. You are alone in yonr room, the room from which she was, carried to the grave ; paper, pens and ink are before you, and you must not shrink from communicating the sad intelligence of your loss to the dear ones thousands of miles away from you. Your aged father and mother have the first claim. , Yon fancy you see them seated by the fireside in the far distant home, and the tears gush forth afresh. They loved her the angel of your choice. They made room in their hearts for another one, area for your bride, the daughter you brought them. You write to them first for you want their sympathy, and how eaa you write to her parents bow inflict that wound upon their loving hearts I x ou begin, but hot tears blot the page, and it must be with a manly hand that you write, for they know you not, save by the partial representations of your loved, your lost one. Again and again, you essay to write, and at last throw down the paper and walk the room with rapid stridei, The sister, too, must know the loss, and while you hesitate, letters are brought in, letters from that mother and sister not to you, but to .i . i .... . - . nisi angei wue. un, Diuerest of agony I can you read them 1 No I yet how gladly would she have read them to you, if she had been spared, and how doubly bitter I , l i, ' . oe lasit 01 writing now I tou cannot write w tue motuer, out the i ster VOU know, film lnirna vnu with a . ?T .. . .. 4 iter's fond affection, and to her you pour I i, with a bursting heart, the sum of your s rows'; tears blot the page, but you care not. one would weep with you, and you urge her to write at once to comfort you. It is well to weep, but God has sent the trial in mercy to call your heart from earth to heaven. Soon, aye, very soon, your spirit will be called to join the loved one in heaven. Your days are numbered, and your spirit, purified by suffering, will soon be released from earth. You are alone in a land of strangers, and you pray that the Father may take you home to himself, but you know not how soon that prayer will be answered. 'Tis evening, and a glorious autumn sunset. All nature smiles, but saddened faces are seen surrounding an opeu grave. The sorowing one has gone home. With a spirit saddened he learned to love the Father in Heaven, and death eame to him, not with stern and ruthless hand, but gently as a messenger of love ; he bowed his head and died, and strangers, with tearful eyes, performed to him the last sad rites; but they saw not, heard not (for mortal eyes may not behold the bliss of the spirit land) the glad re-union in the home of the blest. They saw not the radiant form bovering near; heard not the strains of rapture, which welcomed the released spirit to the home of love ; but we know that the spirit dieth not, and that the lore of earth is but the foretaste of bliss to those ransomed souls who surround the throne of God on high. Waverly Magazint. Courting in the Square Is a great thing figuratirely or literally -literally in the particular. Last Sunday night we had occasion to cross Square, between nine and ten o'clock. We felt like sitting down and resting awhile, but to our surprise, were unable to find a seat every bench in the whole square baring on it a gentlemen and lady engaged in earnest and engrossing Ute-a-tett each couple being crowded up at one end of the seat as if intending to leare room for others, but really because the gentleman, in bis magnetic ardor, had kept squeezing np to his duloinea until the arm of the seat was imperceptibly reached. Although we had a perfect right to take the vacant end of any seat, there was a moral atmosphere about each pair of occupants something in the affectionate collision of tulle and duck and in the warm proximity of lip and ear, that kept us at bay as effectually as a brace of j unmuzzled bull-dogs would bare done. Our politeness in passing on without stopping was rather shabbily repaid with intense staring and a cessation of speech by each couple we passed, except one. We soon got out of that, and though we had only been exercising our right, felt, to a certain extent, thankful that no watchman's rattle or a cry of stop-thief had prclaimed our base intrusion. The couple who did not stare at us, caused us to stare at them as long as we were able ; it was impolite we know, but we couldn't help it The gentleman reclined on the seat with his head resting on the back. Whether his head rested on the sharp iron back or was pillowed by muslin with an arm in it, we could not make out, but should suspect the latter, for the lady leaned to the gentleman " like a kitten to a warm jamb," and, with her white neck gleaming in the gas-light, bent her face orer his, which wooed ft as the pool might woo the orer-hanging beech. As we passed we noticed the beech descending slowly and a most distractincr sound announced its junction with the pool. it was no upstart boiden, but a full, genu-uine "buss," compared with which we should judge strawberries and cream to be entirely nauseous. " It had a dying fall" and might hare caused a weaker nerred individual than ourself to "fall dying" on the spot Our predominant sensation was that the Sabbath had been shockingly profaned, as we hurried on we beard the profanity repeated more shockingly than before. The lovers, it was plain, had for gotten they were on a seat in a publio square, being high in that rose-colored hea-ren concerning which the "poicks" scribble so much. Ovirdoiiio tbr Thino. There was once a Methodist preacher traveling in the summer. There had been a protracted drought, the earth was parched and dry, and vegetation wilted. At night our Methodist friend stopped in front of a house which belonged to a widow lady, and asked permission to stay all night. The old may toiu mm inai oreaa was scarce, and that corn was still more scarce, and that she did not know whether she could spare enough to feed him and his horse. The traveler answered her that he was a min ister, and that if she would allow him to stay all night he would pray for rain. Upon this she oonsented, so that night and next morning the preacher put np long and fervent prayers for rain, and again went on his way rejoicing. I be night, alter he left there came a tremendous storm. The old lady, on getting up in the morning, found her garden flooded, her fences swept away, her plantation washed in gullies, while ruin and devastation stared her in the face. Turning to one who was standing by, she said : " riague lane these Jdetbedist preaehen, they alvayt overdo the thing. I was afraid of this night before last, when that fellow kept praying so loud I" .... A young lady was discharged from one of the largest rinegar bouses in Cin cinnati last week. She was so sweet that the vinegar was kept from fermenting. ' itttMcal. Modern Frogren in the Medical Profession.The public hare latterly had presented to them rather a novel feature in the journalism of the day,, in the shape of elaborate scientific treatises on medical subjects appearing in eonsecutive chapters in the advertising and news columns of the daily and weekly newspapers of this city. These articles are from the pen of Dr. Hunter, No. 028 Broadway, the well known practitioner in pulmonary and bronchial diseases, and are distinguished from the em-pyrical programmes usually put forth through tne same medium, by their thorough acquaintance with the subjects treated of, the simplicity and clearness of their language, and the demonstrative force of the arguments employed. ' With these qualities to recommend them to our attention, we cannot but welcome the appearance of these articles as heralding an important and beneficial revolution in the traditions and practice of the medical profession. There is no pursuit in which the spirit of old fogyism has, in spite of the enlightenment of the age, managed more completely to trammel and subdue the human intellect With a riew to unity, like the Roman Catholio Church, it maintains its hold upon the almost superstitious awe and rererence of ignorant and unreasoning minds by inrolriog the little of truth that it possesses in technical phra seology, denred from classical sources, and consequently incomprehensible to the multitude. But few men belonging to the craft for such more correctly may be designated the medical profession have bad courage to emancipate themselves from the code of conventional as well as collegiate regulations which has been built up for its pro tection. Like the novitiate of the Egyptian priesthood, its mysteries and its privileges could only become accessible by a prescribed track, and after a long, and oft en painiul probation. There has been hitherto no short cut to professional success and fame recognized within its canons. Any man departing from the beaten road laid down for bis guidance has been invariably treated as an outcast, and stigmatised as a quack. The result has been, that whilst the medical profession has been reduced to a close monopoly, it has extended but little its sphere of knowledge, and hag consequently conferred less benefits upon the human race than it might otherwise hare done. One of the barriers by which the profession has endearored to fence itself around, has been the: prohibition or discouragement held out to all attempts on the part of its members to enter into direct communication with the public. A medical man may address himself through the medium of a book, and under the cover of technicalities to his own profession, but be roust not appeal to the common sense and natural in telligence of the uninitiated members of the community, lest the arcana of the healing art should cease to be, like the El eusynian mysteries, an exclusive and profitable possession. The effect of this jealous and narrow-minded system of phi lanthropic and bigh-spirited men may readily be conceived. They hare hsd to chafe in silent indignation under restraints, the direct bearing of which has been to protect the privileges of the senior members of the profession, and keep down and discourage as much as possible all evidences of rising talent We are rejoiced to find that one man, and that a .practitioner, whose professional merits and skill cannot for a moment be questioned, has had the moral courage to break through the trammels imposed upon him by the old routine of his art. Dr. Hunter wisely, and in time, arrived at the conclusion that if such acquirements as he possessed were worth anything, the more extensive the circulation he gave to the results of his researches and experience the greater the benefits he would not only confer upon himself but upon the community Between the limited publicity afforded him by the usual professional reources of book publication and that offered by the newspapers it is not surprising that' he chose the latter. It presented the advantages of rapidity, comprehensiveness and popularity, objects whioh, to a man ambitious of fame in his profession, were the readiest and surest elements of success. We hare had personal experienee of the happy results of the Doctor's mode of treatment, and can vogoh for its success. Owing to the serere drudgery incident to our pursuits, and that tendency to bronchial diseases with which the peculiarity of our climate afflicts such a large proportion of our population, we nave been suffering tor several years past from a throat affection, which all the medical remedies that we had formerly applied failed to eure. We can truly say that we have found more relief and greater hope of ultimately trettinir rid of the malady from Dr. Hunter's mode of treatment than from that of anv other med ical man to whom we had previously submitted our case. The lesson afforded by this brief sketch of Dr. Hunter's career is calculated to be useful to the medical profession. Here is a man who, chained down by 'the conventional piejudices and usages of his medical brethren, might have toiled on for half his life without arriving at the results to which his acquirement! entitled him to aspire. It cost him an effort of moral courage, and no doubt a sacrifice of some professional pride, to emancipate himself from the thraldom of associations in which they bound him. By having sufficient independence of character to shake loose these ties, and devote bis talents to the general good of the community, he has, within an unprecedented short space of lime, won the highest prizes withm the reach of medical practitioner. tV It Is better to tread the path of life cheerfully ; skipping over the thorns and briers that obstruct your Way, thsn to sit down under every hedge lamenting your hard condition. Prudent conduct in the concerns of life is highly necessary, but if aieiren succeed, despair will not auord re lief. . Lung Diseases Dr. Hunter. Our readers have, doubtless, all real the series of interesting letters contributed to the Mirror lot sometime past, by Dr. Robert Hunter, whose system of " inhalation in the treatment of Diseases of the Chest" though but for a short lime intro-' duced to the American public has by it uniform success, even in cases pronounced incurable by other modes of treatment, secured a favor with the publio, and the medical fraternity even, seldom vouchsafed to an innoration on " medicalusages."--Indeed, we doubt if any greater revolution in the treatment of a class of diseases, has erer occurred in this country. To diseases of the lungs and ebest- consumption, bronchitis, dec, the American people hare a general and, it would seem, chronic inclination, 1 Whether it results most from carelessness in dress, or in diet, or mainly from a want of care in both, as well as in habits of exercise we cannot say but we know, from keeping an eye to the mortality bills, that lung and chest diseases nre the ruling diseases of this country. And what is more, they hare, heretofore, mainly baffled the skill of our medical faculty, laughing tar-water, cod-lirer oil, and all that sort of thing to scorn. The accession of Dr. Hunter, therefore, to our medical ranks, with a system of practice that promises to reduce if not obliterate the triumphant power of consumption and its cognates, is hailed with more than satisfaction. Dr. Hunter is a physician who has ventured into the field with no less modesty than ability, making no pretensions that he has not justified by sound argument and successful practice. Right here, in our midst, he has met the " incurables," and restored them to pristine health. He has so multiplied witnesses in his behalf that he might hare rested on " testimonials," and been sure of practice to his heart's oontent. But he has taken a broader and nobler riew in relation to his duty, as the institutor of a ral-uable new system in connection with the healing art. He has desired not only to practice it himself, but to commend it to the medical fraternity, certain that, when their prejudices should be overcome, they, too, would join with him in its practice. He wished to serve the public in the largest way possible. Of course we know nothing of the medicaments used by Dr. Hunter, nor can we discourse technically upon his mode of treatment ; we only know that by inhalation he reaches disease as it has never before been reached, and that, to the patient, it is not only curative but at the same time the most agreeable mode of treatment. Our readers have, however, been enlightened by Dr. H.'s letters more than they would be by anything we could say. A rery able article or summary of his system appears in the March numbtr of the American Medical Gazette, edited by Dr. Meredith Reese. We hive not space here to copy this article, as we would like to do, but it is worthy of the attention of every one. In introducing the letter to his read-era, Dr. Reese says : " We insert bis (Dr. Hunter's) letter with pleasure, addressed as it is to the profession, who will know how to appreciate it. It will serve us, moreorer, as an answer to many of our distant subscribers who have written to us for information on the subject They cannot fail to discriminate between Dr. Hunter's scientific views in regard to diseases and remedies, and the paltry charlatanism of certain quacks, whose grandiloquent advertisements of 1 lung vapor in packages,' Ac, merit only contempt, and whose employment of Inhalation is calculated to bring the practice into disrepute." , The Herald says, in copying the above mentioned letter : ' " The artiole is clear, well written and sensible, and is addressed by Dr. Hunter to his brethren of the profession at large, as an explicit declaration of the principles on which he practices in a speciality, with acknowledged benefit to a large and widely extending circle of patients, both from this city find the surrounding districts. His avoidance of erery indication of empiricism, and his rational diagnosis of all affections of the throat and lungs, with his very successful application of remedial agents in the shape of medicated rapor, have caused Dr. Hunter to be already patronized br some of our leading physicians, and his house is daily crowded with patients." . But our purpose, in this article, was not to introduce special testimony, or to argue Dr. Hunter's claims in any speoial way. With thousands of others, we hare been interested in his system, more by the universality of its success and the blessing it promised, than on any and all other accounts. To the real servitor oJ the publio the friend of humanity we n are nerer been wanting in eulogy. We regarl Dr. Hunter as a distinguished member of this class. JV. T. Mirror. Hurrah 1 This word is pure Sclaronian, and is commonly heard from the coasts of Dalmatia to Behring's Straits, when any of the population living within these limit are called on to give proof of courage) and valor. The origin of the word belongs to the primitive idea that every man that dies heroioally for his country goes straight to Heaven (ffu-raj to Paradise), and it ia so that in a shock and ardor of battle, the combatant otter that cry, as the Tnrka do that of Allah I each animating himself by the certitude of immediate recompense, to forget earth and contemn death. Optwittiko tbi . SHRirr. A New-Hampshire sheriff was taking a rogna to-prison, a few days since, in a wagon. To make sure of him, the sheriff sat ia the prisoner' lap ; and when the horses eame to a hill, where his attention was neeesry to his vehicle, the rogue threw him out of bis lap, jnrapsd from the wagon and escaped to tha wood. ' ,: 6rAn!ie TP oa ma Rronts." Haa a man," asked a prisoner of a mt,'itrte, " any right to commit a nuisance ?" " No. sir; not even the Msyor." " Then, sir, I claim my liberty. I was arrested as , nuisance, and no oneb a rifht t't C5'-mil b. I m.its I t a e'1"U !" ' rX y -s -